


And Indeed There Will Be Time

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-20
Updated: 2005-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1624862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time isn't the same here, in the real Narnia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Indeed There Will Be Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lheena

 

 

Time isn't the same here, in the real Narnia. Lucy's not sure if it's faster or slower or if it curls in lazy circles like a snail's shell, past and present and future all within reach for anyone who knows where to look.

It doesn't matter though, because time isn't important in Narnia. It doesn't rule their lives like it did in the old world; bells don't ring to mark the passing of yet another hour or as noisy reminders of beginnings and endings, and Peter doesn't wind the watch their father gave him, though he wears it every day.

Even days aren't the same. There are still days and nights, light and dark, and the sun shines in the day (and sometimes rain falls too, a soft rain that nourishes the ground and skin but doesn't beat anything to the ground) and stars shine at night. Lucy recognises Ramandu and his daughter in the east - she knows it's them with the same degree of certainty that she knows she's Lucy, though if she were asked _how_ she knows, she wouldn't be able to say anything more than "it's the light, it's their light". And the sun is golden and almost - but not quite - too large and bright, like the sun at the end of the world. But the days aren't split into hours, and sometimes it might be light for what feels like forever, and then a mossy dark will settle and they'll sleep, everyone, and none of them know for how long. Yet it is always long enough for them to feel refreshed, but not so long that they wake up feeling heavy and grumpy from too much sleep.

*

When they first met all their old friends again, at Aslan's feast celebrating the very first day of the creation of New Narnia, Edmund had taken her aside and whispered,

"It's going to be weird, sons meeting grandparents and great grandparents and great great grandparents, and everyone looking the same age."

"I wonder what they'll all call each other?"

"And if they'll get muddled. Just imagine, trying to remember if someone is your six-greats grandfather or seven-greats."

"And if they're all named after each other, like Caspian was--"

They both laughed.

"At least there's only one Edmund and Peter and Lucy and S--well, you know, at least no other kings or queens were named after us." Edmund trailed off, a little sadly.

He'd smiled awkwardly at her, and headed back into the thick of the feast. Lucy had wandered in the opposite direction, away from the lights and merriment.

As she walked through the garden, she thought about Caspian, and his joy at seeing her. And her joy at seeing him, a young man again, her own age once more.

But she also wondered about other things, what would happen when husbands met wives who had died and the wives who had replaced them. She worried that maybe there would be pain and confusion when all there should be was happiness. And then a peaceful warmth had settled over her. She heard Aslan's voice as clearly as if he were beside her, and she understood that, although they were all family, the old ties were no longer valid. They were all brothers and sisters and friends, starting anew, even though they might have been something else to each other once.

It was to be a new beginning for all of them.

*

Some things are impossible in this new world: they just can't exist. There are no lies, because there is no place for deception. And regrets--they too are absent. After all, how can there be regrets when endless possibilities lie within reach?

That is the beauty, one of the beauties, of this world.

Lucy only has to sit and think of something not done, or something done that might have been done better, and she can fix it. Even things that she's done in the past, or careless words that would have been better not said don't trouble her now. She knows now how little those things matter. Words then, in the old life, don't have the power they once had. And taunts and slights, however much they hurt once, don't last forever.

For while it might not be allowed, or indeed wise, to learn what _might_ have been (if), now they have the chance to try everything, do everything they have ever wanted.

Lucy looks at Caspian as she thinks that, and knows that everything she has ever wanted with him, all her dreams, will happen soon.

*

Edmund and Peter, and those who knew them before, don't like to mention Susan - Lucy rather thinks that they are concerned that it might upset her.

Because Lucy does miss Susan.

Sometimes she stands on a ridge overlooking England, seeing the whole land below her, and wonders what Susan's life is like now. Lucy wonders if Susan is happy, if she has found what she is looking for.

Susan will join them one day, Lucy is certain of this, because Lucy knows Susan, better than anyone save Aslan. Even when Susan laughed at her for what Susan called 'Lucy's follies', for believing in a land of talking beasts, and wild and holy magic, even then, she knew that deep down Susan still remembered the feel of Aslan's fur beneath her fingers and the strength he gave them all. Some things, once they're inside, can never leave. And even if Susan did seem silly at times, caring more for material fripperies and growing up than the true important things, Lucy knows that wasn't the real Susan. She knows that the real Susan is still inside, the gentle Susan who loved Narnia. One day she'll wake up and assert herself, and then Susan will be able to see the doorway into this world, and make the climb that they all made, Lucy and Peter and Edmund and all the others. And once she is here she'll never be able to forget ever again.

Lucy misses Susan, but it's not a painful thing, because she has faith in her.

*

Everyone likes sweet dreams, but they just don't last, and even the memories of them are only a temporary gift. Somehow it's worse being given a gift, and having it taken away, than never having one at all.

Dreams wear thin at the edges like old love letters that have been fondled too often, and the foreground fades into the background until they're both the same shade of old and there's nothing to see any more. Dream memories aren't like real memories; those leave traces to cling to, they're photographs in large crackly albums that you can pour over when it's cold outside and there's a cosy fire in the hearth to light each treasured picture soft and warm.

You can't share fond stories about dream memories, because there is no one else in the world who has had the same dream. There are no old familiar conversations that start off with 'do you remember when?' and end in laughter or tears or just long quiet looks.

No matter how hard you try, dream memories slowly fade.

Lucy always had vivid dreams, and sometimes they were so good that she would cry - hot stinging tears that hurt her throat - when she felt them slipping away from her. Dreams of Narnia, always, light sea air and a boy-king with golden curls and a special smile just for her, and Aslan--Aslan was always there, even if she didn't see him, a warmth and safety and feeling of love. In Lucy's dreams the trees would whisper secrets to her, secrets that she knew would change her life if only she could remember them long enough. In her dreams she wasn't a little girl anymore, not scared of school, or the dark, or spider's webs, or girls with sharp tongues.

In Lucy's dreams she was a woman, she was a _queen_ \- but now Lucy has something better. Now Lucy is in Narnia, and there's no more greyness--

There's no more greyness in her life, no more forgotten dreams, no more uncomfortable uniforms and miserable lessons that don't teach the important things in life. No more rules that don't make sense, because here the rule is love and be loved, and that covers everything.

*

It's always warm enough here for bare feet, even when there's snow on the ground. It's freeing in ways that Lucy can't begin to put into words, even in her own head. There is soft turf to run across, without ever getting tired or worrying about catching the edge of a rabbit hole and turning an ankle. The earth is so springy it bounces under each footstep as though the ground wants to lift her into the air, and there are long beaches of warm sand that never get too hot even in the middle of the day. Even the forests are good underfoot, big crisp leaves that crunch satisfyingly and smell like childhood.

Lucy has a pair of brown lace-up shoes and knee-high socks, but she keeps them in the bottom of a trunk and never bothers to open it. She doesn't need them, not when the world loves her, and welcomes her, and wants her to be a part of it in a way that was never possible back in England.

*

Lucy loves sunrises. She loves watching the changing colours and waiting for the sun to peek out above the horizon. She loves hearing the land wake up around her, birds stretching their wings and taking flight, trees rustling and flowers turning towards the east.

Most of all, she loves watching the sun rise with Caspian, hand in hand as they look out over the sea. He knocked on her door and woke her this morning before the sun had even hinted at its return, and they'd walked out here together, silently.

That was another beauty of this world. Nowhere was too far to visit: everywhere was just around the corner. One only had to wish, to think about where one longed to be, and then, somehow, you would know which road to travel, and the journey would be over in just the right amount of time. Longer if you wanted an adventure, less if you wanted to be there immediately.

So when Lucy remembers a friendship that had never happened, an underwater shepherdess who'd smiled at her as Lucy had sailed by, she doesn't even need to think before suggesting to Caspian that they should go there, to the Last Sea and the lands of the Sea People. And it isn't a voyage of months and countless dangers like the first time they went there. They just have to step into the sea.

The water is cool and refreshing against their bare feet, not yet warmed by the new sun, but not so cold that they want to run straight out again. As they walk, the land behind them vanishes, and the sea around them becomes clear as the purest crystal, until they realise that they are now walking under the water.

That might have frightened them once, but they feel no fear, only awe and joy. And as they walk, they begin to feel the weight of their clothes, and know that they don't need them here.

So they slip out of them, dropping cloaks and shirt and britches and gown, leaving a trail of earth colours behind them.

Once, Lucy knows, this would have been impossible. Wrong and embarrassing. She can still remember those days, even though they didn't seem quite real anymore, not real like this is. There's no shame in this world.

So now it is the most natural thing in the world to let the water flow freely over her skin, to turn to Caspian and see his joy in this freedom, to see his handsomeness as though for the first time.

And when they kiss for the first time, and touch each other with an eager wonderment, that too is right, and it feels both new and exciting and as right and comfortable as if they had done this many times before.

*

They find the sea girl, tending her flock of fish, and she looks just as Lucy remembers. And she remembers Lucy, that's clear, because she beams at the sight of them, and reaches out pale hands to clasp Lucy's.

And they are friends.

*

"I wonder what happened to our gifts?" Lucy asks one day.

"The Christmas gifts?" Edmund asks, because he's no longer uncomfortable about being the only one who didn't receive one.

"Yes. My vial, and Peter's sword, and Susan's bow and horn."

"We don't need them anymore, so I suppose they were destroyed with the Old Narnia," Peter suggests.

Lucy thinks about it for a moment.

"We'll never be ill, or injured, ever again."

"No, Lu, never again."

She knew that, of course, but it's this moment when she really understands that. When she realises that this is still only the beginning, and there are worlds within worlds still waiting for them to discover, each more wonderful that the previous. And when it's right, when Susan is here, they'll start a new adventure.

*

The day Susan comes to them, Lucy wakes up knowing that it's going to be a wonderful day. She wakes Caspian, who sleeps beside her now, and he smiles and kisses her, tender sleepy kisses.

"You're excited," he says.

"Yes," she nods. "We need to get ready to go and meet Susan."

That is yet another wonder of this world: Caspian doesn't question her assurance, or tell her that she's being silly. They all know better than that now, and Caspian, out of all of them, has always understood Lucy. He simply dresses, in bright robes and a coronet, ready for whatever is about to happen.

As they head downwards toward the door to that other world, they are gradually joined by others, Peter and Edmund first, then Eustace and Jill, and Sir Reepicheep, Mr. Tumnus dancing alongside Puddleglum, King Frank and Queen Helen, and more and more until they are a huge procession. They sing as they walk; a song without words but with a melody that makes everyone's heart fill with joy.

And as they reach the door, Susan walks through, and Lucy runs ahead of everyone else, and Susan is running now too - black hair touched with silver falling out of its band and whipping against her face in her rush - until they're hugging so tightly Lucy can barely breathe.

"I knew you'd come eventually," Lucy smiles, through tears that have inexplicably appeared in her eyes, though why she should cry when she's so happy, she doesn't know.

"I remembered," is all Susan says, but that's enough.

 

 

 


End file.
